


Hand Made

by methylviolet10b



Series: Camera Obscura [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Prompt Fic, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Sometimes hobbies and odd bits of knowledge turn out to be useful when you least expect it. Written for JWP #8.





	Hand Made

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This is a continuation of Camera Obscura, Unlucky Number, Another Angle, The Job, Prerogative, The Enemy of My Enemy (Is Still A Freak), Calling Card, Well Begun, and Take a Flyer. If you haven't read those, this might not make much sense. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> Author's Notes: Written for JWP 2017 #8: Everyone Loves Sharing Their Expertise. All of us have something we've learned about or practiced a great deal. Whether it's knitting, or horseback-riding, or a particular performing group, use one of your own hobbies or interests as the inspiration for today's work.

As she intended, Sally took her time walking to the main office of the Royal Horticultural Society. She didn’t visibly dawdle or look around. That would have been risking giving away the game to anyone watching or following her. No, she simply walked like a woman who had an errand to run, but wasn’t above taking a little time to enjoy the fresh air while she did it.   
  
She also checked every window, car mirror, and other reflective surface as she walked, searching for any sign she might be being followed.  There was a gangly teenaged-looking bloke in a hoodie, head-down and face obscured, who turned up in her searches several times, early on, but he turned off after two blocks, and she didn’t see him again. There was a woman in a red coat that Sally would have quite admired in other circumstances, but she went into one of the shops on the way. And really, who would try tailing someone in a coat as eye-catching as that?  
  
Sally did not relax. She was relatively good at spotting when she was being followed, but just because she hadn’t found anyone, that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone to be found.  
  
The door at 80 Vincent Square was unlocked, as the discreet sign giving the name of the society and office hours indicated it should be. The bell over the door jangled when she opened it, and again as it shut behind her. The small reception area was empty, unlike the last time Sally’d been by, and there was no one at the front desk. Before Sally could think much of it, she heard a voice call out.  
  
“Just a moment!”  
  
Sally made her way over to the desk and waited. After a few minutes, a tall, silver-haired woman shuffled out of the back area and approached the desk, a polite smile on her face. A Royal Horticultural Society name-tag pinned to her cardigan declared her to be “Jane.”  
  
Her exquisite, hand-knit cardigan.  Sally frowned, hating to see work like that risked with a pin. True, the pin looked sturdy, and had been carefully placed to avoid a risk of a snag. But that was high-end fiber, wool and silk held together if Sally was any judge, and she was. She wasn’t the knitter her aunt was, or her uncle for that matter, but she was more than just a basic hobbyist. Her knowledge was something closer to Watson’s seemingly instinctive knowledge of military protocols, or Lestrade’s encyclopaedic recall of London punk bands from the 1980’s – a legacy of something that had once been another career path, or almost so.  
  
And that exquisite, hand-knit, custom-made cardigan, with its perfect gauge and expensive materials and exquisite drape, did not fit the woman who had it on. Not at all. The sleeves were five centimetres too short, and the chest was designed for a bosom much more generous than the flat-chested person who currently wore it.   
  
“May I help you?” The low voice was cool, polite, but the eyes behind the cats-eye frames were sharp, assessing. And there was something else – a faint flicker of recognition, perhaps. Or anticipation. Possibly even glee.  
  
The bell over the door jangled again.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 8, 2017. 
> 
> Additional Author's Note: I'm no great knitter myself, but I've learned enough to notice when something's handmade and well-crafted!


End file.
